Art Imitates
by Kate Christie
Summary: Tumblr prompt from Fembot77: A typical lazy Sunday with their little one. If you follow me on twitter, you'll get the meaning behind the title.


Castle prompt from Dia, fembot77: A typical lazy Sunday with their little one:

"Castle, it's a Jumperoo, not a jet engine."

The box had said the only tool required was a Phillips head screwdriver, but apparently that necessitated getting the toolbox out of the hall closet. After all the baby-product assembly that had occurred over the past 6 months, she really should have known better than to allow that.

She kept a hammer, two screwdrivers, and a pair of pliers in a kitchen drawer just to avoid the appearance of the dreaded toolbox. But the giant cardboard box with the smiling, bouncing baby on one side sitting by the piano since yesterday had chosen to speak to her husband while Beckett was changing a diaper.

"These tabs are not snapping. The tabs are supposed to snap. Now I have to get the butterfly gerbil ball back off, and that requires pliers. And possibly a mallet."

Oh god... Not the mallet.

"Why don't you wait ten minutes and I'll come help you?"

"You're feeding him. Take your time. You don't get to breastfeed him all week when he's with me."

Ugh. True, but she really didn't want to have to order a replacement Jumperoo when he destroyed this one with his "ingenuity."

"It's just this one tab..."

He had the circular playseat upside down on the rug and was using his knee for leverage as he pulled up on some unidentified plastic part.

"Almost got it..."

Not that she didn't appreciate the show of flexing biceps and forearms as he struggled with the toy, but the outlook for said plastic part was not good considering the amount of force he was applying.

Just then the owner of the muscles in question let out a grunt, and something gave way, the plastic spinny ball flying through the air to land near her feet as Castle bounced backward on his butt.

She had to give him credit for his recovery - he was up and looking unthwarted in seconds.

"Got it."

"I can see that."

She nudged the plastic toy with her toe.

"Tabs, Beckett. It was faulty tabs."

As he swiped the toy up and returned to his task, she rolled her eyes.

"Mmm hmm. You don't usually have trouble inserting tabs into slots..."

He turned back to her from his spot on the floor surrounded by parts, eyes sparkling, one brow cocked.

"Oh, so true. And you would know, my dear Detective."

Twenty minutes and only minor finger-pinching injuries later, the Jumperoo was fully assembled and the toolbox returned to its dormant state, out of sight.

Getting their squirmy 5-and-a-half-month-old into the cloth seat suspended from the spring-loaded struts had been a bit of a challenge, but now he was looking with wide-eyed wonder at the collection of brightly colored toys in arm's reach.

A fat little palm landing flat on the clear plastic butterfly ball spun the toy, and their son's face broke out in a huge smile.

"You like it, Christopher? You like your new toy Daddy built for you?"

The cherub-cheeked boy looked up at her and let out a squeal, then bounced, setting off a splash of lights and music.

Castle plopped down on the couch beside her and held out his finger.

"I'm injured."

There was nothing visibly wrong with the digit, but the puppy dog eyes and the frowny lower lip were out in full force, so she placed a smacking kiss to his knuckle.

"Better?"

"Almost. I'm also injured here."

He held up his elbow for another kiss.

"And here."

He pointed to his butt, continuing with the pouty tone.

That earned him her best Beckett glare, which he answered with a roguish eyebrow waggle.

"This thing does seem to keep him... occupied..."

"Castle, I am not getting naked with you while our son is in here, awake, in his bouncy seat. Don't you remember the giant panel of warnings about strangulation and death from the directions? Do not leave child unattended…?"

Undaunted, he slid over to loom above her, weight braced on the back of the couch.

"Doesn't mean we can't make out on the couch a little..."

Damn biceps, curving deliciously in her peripheral vision.

She leaned up to meet his mouth, but just as their lips made contact, Christopher discovered some new maneuver to set off a very chipper rendition of a nursery rhyme.

Castle deflated, huffing out a breath at the juncture of her collarbones.

"Later, Castle. He has a nap coming."

He lifted himself off of her and collapsed into the adjacent couch cushion, slightly dejected expression immediately melting at the sight of their son tipping the teeter-totter frogs back and forth.

"I just figured I'd take advantage of the mesmerizing effect my manly tool-wielding skills must have had on you..."

Seriously? What an opening.

Walking two fingers slowly up from his elbow to his shoulder, dragging the blunt edge of her nails along the curve at the edge of his t-shirt sleeve, she gave him her best bedroom eyes.

"Oh, don't worry, Castle, when he's passed out in his crib, I'll let you take full advantage of_ my_ manly tool-wielding skills."

Turning his attention back to her waiting mouth, he leaned in, words escaping with a smile against her lips.

"Please remind me to let you assemble all the toys from now on."


End file.
